


i don’t know what else i would do than try to kiss the skin that crawls out of you

by yourendlessblue



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe, Director/Actress AU, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Tapes, Sexual Content, cameraman?, honestly up to you, or filmmaker, roy mustang is an expert in making artful soft porn indie movies in here i suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27193933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourendlessblue/pseuds/yourendlessblue
Summary: Her hair still smelled like hairspray and her face smelled like the fresh smell of newly-erased makeup but her mouth and tongue tasted like passionfruit and right, she drank a cocktail in a scene. The nape of her neck was cool against his fingers or maybe his hand was just warm, and he would pull back except her dainty hands—manicured, nails painted red, because Elizabeth would—travelled to his collar and pulled him down, in, and he was lost.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	i don’t know what else i would do than try to kiss the skin that crawls out of you

The day he met her is the day he knew he could cease searching.

She was twenty-three, fresh-faced and fresh out of a small, decrepit diner halfway to a small, decrepit town. She was soft straw-blonde hair and chapped rose lips and Roy was in love, very in love, even before he knew her name. She’d walked into his threadbare, but sleek office with careful, deliberate steps and he knew.

“You’re the girl Maes called,” Roy said, smile charming and easy. “He was the one who watched your works.”

“Ah,” she said, and he saw the soft pink spread like wildfire across her cheeks, a blink of her eye, but her mouth didn’t twitch, she didn’t look down. “They were, well, amateur projects.”

“Sometimes those were the best ones,” he told her, gesturing her to sit. “I have to apologize because I hadn’t seen them. Maes was the one who scouted, because I told him I didn’t want to hold auditions this time. He told me you might be a good fit for the role.”

“I’d like to try,” she answered, and he could heart the steady determination in her voice. He thought she shouldn’t have to try. He could see she was _perfect_. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

+

The woman he wanted her to play was flirtatious and dark, mysterious and bubbly, cold and glittering. _Elizabeth_ was the tale of a girl who’d grown up with an absent father and a dead mother, and found herself twenty years later as the most sought-after escort between men, and women, of power. Elizabeth, who lived like a queen, who came home to a loyal old dog and a whole cellar of expensive liquor; Elizabeth, whose company was so sought after and whose ears had heard hundreds of secrets that would destroy lives, destroy careers, destroy a country.

Riza would lay on a bed with her co-stars, actors with far years above her—and, _above her_ , with him watching behind the camera. It shouldn’t be hard. And it was easy, somewhat, despite her worries of her inexperience; but it was hard for all the wrong reasons.

Roy Mustang would say _cut, that was perfect_ , and he would praise them, but she would catch a gleam of something, _something_ she was afraid to only be her wishes. And in the months that she worked, her first bigger project—perhaps, her breakthrough in the making, she found herself _wishing_ for more.

+

He found himself caught between a rock and a hard place rather soon. Riza Hawkeye—no, _Elizabeth_ —enamored him, cold eyes and red lips curling with disdain masked by warm ditziness for her suitor for the night. She was perfect, perfect when she turned to the empty shell of a woman he made her to be, after sighing and moaning to meaningless praises he made her receive.

And yet, he felt strangely possessive, felt an unbridled desire to be the one to kiss those lips and whisper those words to the shell of her ears; in the dark of his room, on the mess of his sheets, devoid of the eyes of others and devoid of the eyes of the camera.

He kissed her.

Her hair still smelled like hairspray and her face smelled like the fresh smell of newly-erased makeup but her mouth and tongue tasted like passionfruit and _right_ , she drank a cocktail in a scene. The nape of her neck was cool against his fingers or maybe his hand was just warm, and he would pull back except her dainty hands—manicured, nails painted red, because Elizabeth would—travelled to his collar and pulled him down, _in_ , and he was lost.

He knew he was in love even before he realised it.

+

“No cameras in here?” She asked, teasing. He raised an eyebrow.

“This one is for my eyes only,” he said to the juncture of her neck and her jaw, and the deep timbre of his voice reverberated a shiver through her. His hands were warm against her, as they travel down her bare shoulders, her sides, wrapped in a mauve satin dress she’d worn to the screening. “You were amazing, and everyone will love you.”

“Thank you,” she said, and she pulled him in by the collar for a hard kiss. “It was all because of you.”

“No,” Roy disagreed, kissing down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone in the way that would make her bruise. In the meantime, it only made her moan. He pulled back up to kiss her square on the mouth, no breathes and no air, tiny bites on her lower lip that had her throat stumbling out little noises, which made him smile. Riza caught her breath when he stopped, arms strong and steady around her waist as he pulled her flush against him, chest-to-chest and stomachs touching, forehead resting against each other. “It was all you.”

She thought what they had were attraction, but she couldn’t be more wrong. Because when her satin dress fell rumpled on the floor and his mouth travelled southward along her skin, she realised no, it was all him, it was always him, and it would always be him. He was commanding and considerate, he was teasing and eager, and she was helpless from his mouth around her breasts, his fingers inside her, her words teasing on her ears. When his tongue was inside her and then he was inside her it was him, _all him_ , Riza didn’t care about everything in the world behind the screen or in front of it.

+

He broke a promise, even if it was to himself.

Riza only smirked, knowing, and teasing, and Roy didn’t care if she knew this was long coming but he shot her a charming smile of his own and she softened. He stood over her, his knees touching the insides of her thighs, as he held the camera steady to focus on her face, on the rumpled sheets beneath her, on the skin of her breasts peeking through her soft silken nightgown. Her hair was splayed across the bedsheet, wild and soft and beautiful, her eyes shining under the moonlight he had let in and the mood lamp he had lit. She was gorgeous, lips glistening as she wet them with her tongue, arms slack by her beautiful, _beautiful_ blonde head as she looked up past the camera and to his eyes behind it, though she wouldn’t be able to see. She was lovely, laid down under him and open and wanting, and he wondered how he could resist doing this for so long, all things considered.

“Roy,” she whispered, voice thick and almost pleading, “put that away.”

He complied, setting the camera on the tripod next to their bed before returning to the actual most important task at hand, kissing her hungrily and patiently as if he wasn’t the one stalling by being too mesmerised with her. Riza responded in kind, pouring all into her kiss, her nails raking his back and her hips canting up to him in a purely wanton fashion.

But he broke the promise twice; he couldn’t help it. “Riza, wait,” he breathed with considerable difficulty as one would, when they were up to hilt inside their lover, and Riza let out an indignant, exasperated whine as she rocked slightly over him while he took the camera off the tripod with her on, _around_ him, to lie back and focus it on her face.

She was _stunning_ , lips parted and eyes half-lidded in pleasure and desire, as she rode him to oblivion, her golden hair a mess as it stuck on her face, on her neck. Roy reached out and held, squeezed her breast in his free hand, thumb stroking her sensitive nipple. She was _divine_ , as she tried to no avail containing her keening and her mewls by biting her lip, pleasure marring her face as her breasts bounced in her desperate grind, her fingers between their joined bodies trying to chase her release. When she came she closed her eyes and opened her mouth in a soft, low moan, and the feel of her tightening around him was enough to make him toss the camera on the bed and pull her down, close, to kiss him, as he thrusted up until he was spent.

They watched the whole footage, afterwards, comfortable under the covers, her arm across his torso and his one arm under her head, and he laughed to find that she was as enamored as he was. Riza then scowled, though. “Next time _I’ll_ be doing the recording,” she said with petulance, “you left me working on my own.”

Roy laughed. He loved her; and knew she did, too, because she joined him with her brilliant smile.

+

**Author's Note:**

> this was because i saw a (redacted) pic holding a camera looking SEXY as hell and my mind just. ran off. anyways! look, i never made a sex tape so idk how you even do it, it must be pretty fuckin tough to make it look artful and like cinematographically good instead of straight up just regular porn but i like to think roy mustang is a man of talents and a man who is a genius in whatever he does kay
> 
> uhhhh plus idk actually whether to tag this as M or E it's not... like that explicit? or is it? im not sure


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